the last months. Her
young character was forming itself under terrible difficulties, and it
was well that she inherited more of her father's good sense and courage
than of her mother's meekness and gentleness under all circumstances.
Hermione looked back and tried to remember what she had been six months
ago, but she hardly recognized herself in the picture called up by her
memories. She thought of her ignorance about her aunt's state, and of
how she had sometimes felt sad and sorry for the old lady, but had on
the whole not found that her presence in the house materially changed
her own smooth life. She looked further back, and remembered as in a
dream her first London season. She had not enjoyed herself; she had been
oppressed rather than delighted by the crowds, the lights, the whirl of
a life she could not understand, the terrors of presentation, the men
suddenly brought up to her, who bowed and immediately whirled her away
amongst a crowd of young people, all spinning madly round, and knowing
each other probably as little as she knew her partner of the moment. It
had all been strange to her, and she realized with pleasure that she
should not be obliged to go through it again this year. Her mother was
not a worldly woman, and had not inspired her, while still in the
schoolroom, with a mad desire for the world. Hermione was an only
daughter, and there was no reason for hastening her marriage; nor had
she ever been told, as many young girls are, that she must marry well,
and if possible in her first season. She saw many men in the round of
parties to which she was taken, but she found it hard to remember the
names of even a few of them. They had been presented, had danced with
her, had perhaps danced with her again somewhere else, and had dropped
out of her existence without inspiring in her the smallest interest.
Now, after nearly a year, she would not have known their faces. Some had
talked to her, but their language was not hers; it was the jargon of
society, the petty gossip, the eternal chatter of people and people's
doings. Her answers were vague, and when she asked a question about a
book, about an idea, about a fact, the faultlessly correct young men
smiled sweetly, and answered that they did not understand that sort of
thing. Towards the end of the season, when the first surprise of
watching the moving crowds, the dancing, the women's gowns, and the
men's faces, had worn out, Hermione had regarded the whole th